


meld

by methylene (Glommus)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27034039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glommus/pseuds/methylene
Summary: their first mind meld.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	meld

A mindscape is a powerful, wondrous place.  


The essence of self contained in the mind is overwhelming when experienced by strict observation. Only rarely might one, at least a human, be capable of such introspection as to understand themselves on such a base level. Every thought, memory, and essence of personality forms the most intricate of topographies in every mind. The subconscious weaves connections over time that allow the mind to carry those core constants that make every person unique, while still allowing change and evolution of thought to occur; each strand of personality remaining attached as a continuous reminder of self: core beliefs, reminding thoughts, anchoring desires, hopeful outlooks, glimpses of love.  


An ocean. The overwhelming calm of rolling waves, the hypothermic sensation of submersion in lower temperatures. The kindness of smiling eyes, the peace of a level mind without pulsing stress. Memories, dulled with age yet dynamically vibrant; the weight of years gone by. The contentment in irrefutable achievement. Conviction of self, of worth despite environmental stipulation. A vague, undefined sense of euphoria rarely experienced but deeply ingrained in remembrance. An all-encompassing, absolute, overwhelmingly staggering curiosity. Thirst to find, to discover. Creeping green, gradually stretching beyond the edges of definition. Expansion. Reaching. Mathematical formulae: numerical proof of a universe that exists. Shapes that slot together, pulsing unremitting.  
Heat. The surreal stillness of stone. Sand. Pure, vivid emotion and sensation. Roiling crests and troughs of fear. The ugly, unwelcome sensation of rage unrestrained: red and raw, bleeding profusely, steady and unstoppable. Involuntary reticence. Loss. The inflamed, agonizing, pulsing hole of things left behind and forced abaft. Blistering hot, branded recollection. Resilience. Fierce, resolved, searing determination.  


Emptiness. The surrounding dark, void of all thought and feeling save the ache of loneliness, of a journey for meaning and understanding. The longing to be known. The inability to reach beyond what lies within. Entrapment. The dull throb of awareness thickly cocooned within nothingness. The sticking cobwebs of dissociative reversion, never quite letting go, reaching into the black. An anchor point buried so deep in the dark as to be almost unreachable. Silence. Thrumming, thick silence.  


There’s connection. Clashing light. A freeing exhale. Smooth, blended.  


Across a ribbon, a channel, thrumming with sensation and life almost too potent to comprehend, gold filters in. Shocks of pale pink caress the waves, diving beneath the surface to spread gentle fingers over every heightened hitch of thought. Lavender shadows stretch across the hallowed seascape, brightening hopelessness with every stroke. Sweeping strokes blend color and sensation together, leaving a gentle thrum of wholeness. Clarity. An impression of something completely unknown, never before experienced. Such foreign bliss, fully enraptured yet entirely welcome in its aberrance and innovation, drips over the edge to inhabit every space in equilibrium.  


Something entirely new trickles across the landscape. The settling of dust, the sigh of burdens lifted. An effortless, hazy warmth. Slate blue lazily meshing with gold, pink fading into black and back again. It feels intimate, infinite and constant, as if it was always meant to be and always has been.  


A snap, and the connection abruptly cuts off: leaving behind cozy contentment and the lingering heat of satisfaction in its wake. The artificial light of a starship replaces imagination as eyes blink open.  


In all of this--in only seconds of time--Jim Kirk thinks he understands Spock more than he ever thought he could understand another person. Fingers fall from his face and he meets achingly emotive brown eyes, laid completely bare for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my lovely bestie for reading this so I could make sure it wasn't absolute trash! I am not a gifted writer, but sometimes writing helps me de-stress, so this little thing is a product of me blowing off steam. hope a few of you enjoy <3


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